


Feather and Wax

by Eolien



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Reversal, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eolien/pseuds/Eolien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broken wings have to heal. </p><p>(first chapter rewritten)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feather and Wax

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this first chapter was rewritten after a second thought. The first version is practically just a drabble but it was a bad one nonetheless. Thus, it's been replaced with something like this. It's slower and it's a better try.  
> Those who have read the first version, I promise that a scene like that is going to end up in later chapters because, well, my Eldest!Damian is still a bit emotionally fragile after everything he's went through and wallows in guilt like a pro (just like his father!)

_It's very bright tonight,_ Damian muses and presses himself deeper into the shadows of the alleyway. The moon smiles down on the city like a mother would at her child. Embracing and gentle, a night like this is quite rare in Gotham. The air is clean for once; rain does wonders in an apple like this, and Damian secretly hopes that the sewers have took enough of the smog to spit out Killer Croc right into the streets. Croc hasn't been sighted these days, and it's about time to check up on him to see if he’s plotting or dead.

But Damian doesn't feel like venturing into the sewers again (the stink doesn't wear off for days) so he prays to no one in particular, maybe to Gotham herself, may the smog of this city be toxic enough to do the job for them.

It also happens to be a slow night. A mugging or two, a few local drug dealers and no movement of the mafia nor the crazies. To note, tonight  _is_  Poker Night; every second Friday of the month, really. It's about time the Gotham rogues shared around new theories, information, gossip or whatever on their vigilantes and for the Bats to relax a bit. Everyone needs some now and then.

The air is crisp and clean as a pleasant autumn night (if Gotham ever had one) and Damian shoots a line to the top of the clock tower and perches on a nearby gargoyle. City lights glimmer and he stares down at the city,  _his_  city. Gotham may not be his hometown nor birthplace, no, but she’s his in his own rights. He had pranced and flittered in her alleys as a child and her shadows had protected him ever since he became squire to her knight. Gotham loved her broody protector and his children in her own mysterious way. Damian never had believed in entities but he had come far; there was a point in which he felt it was the only explanation he could give.

“Penny-One, anything on the streets?”

_-None in your district, no._

Damian hums and clicks his tongue slightly. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”

_-Of course, Nightwing._

He instead intercepts the police radio again, only to find not much. 390D, drunk man in Precipice Avenue. 50, intoxicated driver(s) caught in a sobriety checkpoint up north. Damian absently strums his hands on the gargoyle’s wings and leaps off onto a lower sitting place just over the rows of flying buttresses.

A head snaps up as he lands silently on the small platform. Damian switches his link off only to receive. It automatically turns to the group link with a little click.

“Oh, hey ‘Wing.”

“You are slacking off again, Batgirl.”

Unruffled at his disapproving voice, Stephanie Brown shrugs and shoots a fry straight into her mouth. The clock tower is on their boundaries and Batgirl tends to nag at him here. The true center for all patrol districts would be Wayne Tower, the heart of this city but the Penthouse is their second base; it’s where they go back to when the night is over, if not back to the ‘Cave. Not for timeouts nor rest.

“Nope, I just have a lot of time!”

She happily munches on a long gone piece of hamburger, her cowl on and eyes pale against the slightly translucent lens. Damian scrunches his nose slightly and the blonde girl goes giggling. He scrunches it even more. Stephanie holds a mug of warm dark liquid towards him.

He gives her a scathing look. “I don’t drink on patrol.”

“But it’s  _coffee_ , Big Bird! You don’t have the heart to refuse _coffee!_ ” She wiggles her eyebrows.

Damian has to accept at that point because it’s a delicacy that Pennyworth would never allow. He reluctantly sits next to the small girl and sips at the drink. Stephanie beams at him and snuggles close. Damian pushes back a little from the uncomfortable touch and develops a sudden urge to ask where Drake is when the group comm link buzzes into life.

_-Anyone knows where Batgirl is? She’s been unresponsive for an hour now._

Drake’s developing baritone is pitched soft, relaxed but worried. Damian twists the comm link back on and thinks of snapping a chunk out of that just for, well, for fun when Stephanie notices his movement. She pops in before he can even open his mouth.

“Don’t fret, Lark, I’m at the clock tower enjoying a midnight snack. Nightwing’s here too, he’s snuggled up nice and tight.”

Damian clicks his tongue with disapproval and she makes a face and pouts comically. “No ‘thank you’s, Big Bird? Are you still going to have a stick up your ass even after that  _coffee_  I got you?”

- _All of you,_ _quiet_.

Damian is ready to snark back when a rasping growl shuts all of them up. Stephanie rolls her eyes and announces with an exaggerated whisper.

“Well, I’m staying here for a few more minutes and then off patrolling again. Listening to Big Bird’s nagging over here, you know.”

_-Fine. I’m going on another round too—I’ll catch you at the penthouse later, then._

The youngest two of their brood exchange little meaningless sounds that Father cuts right off from the comm. Stephanie snickers and Pennyworth eventually clicks them in again, sighing in time with Father. Listening in on the silent group link now, Damian understands why Father is being annoyed. He can hear faint mutterings over the link; Batman must have been listening in (and recording, if it was over the link) on Poker Night while Drake and Stephanie bantered along. Damian clicks his tongue when Father sighs again softly at Stephanie's antics.

“Is there anything you want us to take a look at, Batman?” He suggests, putting a hand over her arm to keep her from making any more distractions (temporarily).

_-The Joker is mentioning gas bombs at the ports. Go search._

_-No elaboration? That’s weird of him. Doesn’t he usually get specific?_

Damian can hear the frown in Drake’s voice. There were two major ports in Gotham, each at the very end of Gotham.

_-Not this time. Go search both Port Adams and Dixon Docks._

Damian gets the impression that Father moved over to a private link when the low conversations click off. Drake’s end whistles with air with him undoubtedly soaring through the forest of buildings.

_-I’ll take Port Adams. Anyone up for Dixon?_

He stands swiftly, leaving the last of the coffee behind. Stephanie rolls her eyes when Damian replies, actually leaving out the default contempt out of it.

“Port Adams is too big for one to handle. I’ll take the west, you take north.”

_-Oh. Alright, Nightwing._

Drake sounds startled; Damian clicks his tongue and swears to himself to never try being affable again. Not that it was. Stephanie intercepts into the link suggestively.

“I’ll head straight towards the Docks, though that would be after I’ve nicely digested; I can’t exactly go around with a full stomach.”

_-Who_ _ever_ _told you to eat during patrol?_

“Oh I don’t know, maybe Boy Glutton did. He  _did_  recommend a few regular places of his.”

_-Hey, I’m still growing!_

Drake protests with a whine when Stephanie snarks into the link. Damian shakes his head, snipes— _“Quit messing around, you fools.”_ —and Stephanie waves a quirky bye as he flits down the gargoyles onto a lower roof.

 

-

 

It’s only after Damian reports back— _“The western warehouses are clear.”_ —that he realizes Drake has yet to say anything. Damian pushes the thought away, ignores the dread creeping slightly. Drake, as always, is adept enough to get out of any situation with anything at hand. Damian may (try to) disregard him but he doesn’t disregard the capabilities of the foster child. There  _is_  a reason why Grandfather practically drools over the boy—Drake is, was, and will always be clever, brilliant really.

And Damian, well, Damian is just being stubborn and holding out with some grudges. He already acknowledges that there couldn’t be a worthier successor to his mantle; he’s just not telling Drake so.

Pennyworth seems to be the first to actively search for Drake. Damian can hear the sigh in his voice through the earpiece.

_-Lark is AWOL. Does anyone know of him?_

_-His signal?_

Batman’s growl is low and dark on the link. Pennyworth sighs again, bemused and frustrated.

_-I mean my words, Batman. He is not responding._

“I’ll go check. Try the emergency tracker, Penny-One.”

Damian clicks his tongue and gracefully starts to head towards the northern warehouses. It’s probably Drake being late, caught up in something like a mugging or two, flinging his earpiece around and accidentally breaking things. Lark has done that too many times that even the ever-suspicious Batman isn’t too put off about it.

Halfway to the northern part, Pennyworth intervenes again.

- _The tracker has been dismissed. Something has gone wrong._

"The GPS chip, then?" 

_-How many trackers do you even have on Lark?_

Stephanie barks out a small snort. Damian smirks. 

"He has a whole history of going under the radar. We needed _something_ to keep him on it." 

_-Lark himself have agreed to it after a few shortly-missed disasters._

Pennyworth chuckles a bit and Damian leaps on another rooftop. It's probably just a false call. He can almost see Drake roaming around the northern warehouses, just for a little more patrol. 

 

But he doesn't. 

No one does, for months. 


End file.
